


The Enchanter

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Cultural Differences, Domestic Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Khuzdul, King Thorin, M/M, Oblivious Bilbo, Overprotective Thorin, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Protective Thorin, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin Oakenshield married Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, the kingdom of Erebor was suspicious. They did not understand how such a simple being could captivate their King’s heart. Rumours began to spread of the enchantments of hobbits, conjecture of witchcraft and spells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enchanter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [L'ensorceleur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939204) by [Eivia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eivia/pseuds/Eivia)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】妖巫](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301723) by [Theinvincibleironman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theinvincibleironman/pseuds/Theinvincibleironman)



> I love the cultural confusion trope, and this idea randomly came to me about how the dwarves of Erebor react to seeing Bilbo, small, foreign creature that he is, married to the great Thorin Oakenshield. Dwarves, suspicious and superstitious as they are… have a lot of strange ideas ;)  
> Non-beta’d, any mistakes are my own.

The Consort sat on a smaller throne beside the King's, looking down upon the kingdom with a cool gaze as they whispered to each other, mysterious and aloof. This habit of theirs, trading secrets under their breath before the King made any decree, only attributed to the fear that the King was under some kind of enchantment.

Surely it was not hard to imagine the small, curious creature to be a beguiling sprite in disguise. His appearance was strange and foreign; he was short of stature, delicate and weak. Standing barely three foot and a half, he had none of the renowned Dwarvish bulk. Even still, there was something undeniably mesmerizing about him. In fact, the dissimilarity was a great part of the allure.

Instead of thick, braided locks, his hair was scandalously short and made of tight, bouncing curls. And his beard – oh, it was quite a shock at first! His face was naked as a newborn babe’s, the ivory of his exposed jaw impossibly smooth. Wide doe-eyes gazed with innocence, yet hidden in their depths was a cunning wisdom. It was said the charmer could see into your soul if you were not careful to avert your gaze. His eyes themselves were deceptive, for none could decide upon the myriad of colours to which they were attributed. From sapphire to aquamarine; topaz to amber; emerald to jade. Some claimed they changed with the seasons, or the sun and stars, or perhaps the witch’s own mood.

He appeared as a merry creature, prone to peals of gay laughter. Whenever the tinkering sound escaped his pink, curved lips, all would stop and listen. It was a siren’s call, bewitching and tormenting all at once. Their King was spellbound far more than any other; he would look to his husband, hypnotized, eyes brimming with overwhelming affection and his perpetual snarl softened to a smile.

Pale, soft hands spoke of an easy life. Any callouses grown from the reclamation of Erebor were long since healed, their absence most likely permanent. His feet were a strange sight indeed: big and seemingly unwieldy, and covered with the curls that rightfully belonged to his chin! The Halfling walked around with his feet always bare, even in the coldest of winter. It had become a game of sorts, amongst the cobblers of Erebor, to gift their Consort with the best footwear. But everything was rejected, from the hardest steel-toed boots, to the softest silken slippers. He was graceful as an Elf, silent as a ghost. He could disappear and reappear as he wished, walking the great halls unseen.

Altogether, the allure of his outwardly appearance lent to the belief that he was a powerful enchanter. Though the King was clearly the deepest under his spell, he was not alone; the twelve other dwarrow who had fought to reclaim Erebor spoke endless praises of the small creature. He was hailed for numerous accomplishments – he tricked Stone trolls when the attack of thirteen warriors failed; he traversed the maze of Goblin Town without harm; he spied on wargs unseen; lurked inside the Elven King’s palace undetected and freed the Company single-handedly; he laughed in the face of Smaug the Terrible, stealing from the dragon without the slightest fear; and, greatest of all, he braved Azog the Defiler and saved their King. The Halfling was called by many names: Ringwinner, Luckwearer, clue-finder, web-cutter, stinging fly, Barrel-rider. Yet it was impossible for the Ereborians to believe such a weak being, a member of the Gentlefolk, could have accomplished such things.

The enamored King adorned his husband in gold and beautiful jewels, small yet bright in their splendor. The Consort wore only the most luxurious of robes, all of Durin’s blue and embroidered with the runes of the Royal line. The clothes were tailored oddly thin, clinging to his petite curves, whereas the traditional Dwarvish style was thick, multi-layered, and concealing of a bulky frame.

Upon the creature’s head, nestled in a bed of shining curls, lay a crown of gold oak leaves. Forged by Dwarven hands, yet crafted with a peculiar delicacy. At first glance it gave the appearance of frailty, alike the Shireling’s own bearing. Though for both it was but a façade, for all knew the tempered steel beneath the deceiving guise.

The King’s worship of his husband knew no bounds. Never was the Consort’s name spoken with the King's harsh dialect, precious to him that it was. Instead spilled out soft-spoken endearments, such a juxtaposition to the battle-worn hero known for his ruthless tenacity in war.

 _Ghivashel, amrâlimê, mizimelûh, melekunûh,_ _kidhuzurâl_ : all slithered from the King's tongue, flatteries lavishing the small form beside him. They never failed to bring a pretty flush to the Halfling's apple cheeks, a sight captivating to all.

Such was the devotion and adoration of their venerable King, rumours spread in the mountain, traitorous whispers of tricks and spells. Worst of all, perhaps, was the last courting gift reputedly given to the Shireling from King Thorin.

It was whispered by only the bravest – or perhaps most foolish of all - that the King, desperate as he was to have the enticing creature as his own, gave the Arkenstone as his final offer of betrothal.

It was hard to say which was worst: that the King would actually give away the precious jewel – Heart of the Mountain, Mahal’s gift to the line of Durin, divine sign of their right to rule – to a member of the Gentlefolk... Or that said gift was _rejected._

That any could think themselves above the Arkenstone, more precious than all the gold, jewels, and mithril of Erebor combined – well, it was inconceivable!

The fact that the Arkenstone remained above the King's head where it belonged was proof enough to most that the rumour, ridiculous and appalling in its disgraceful nature, was merely fable. Perhaps weaved by those who wished to undermine King Thorin's rule and usurp his throne.

It was hard to say what, exactly, the Shireling wanted, assuming he truly was an enchanter from the mysterious west. Erebor had only flourished since the defeat of Smaug. Progress was slow, but after almost two hundred years of desolation, there was much work to be done. King Thorin was a just ruler, revered by his people for all he had done for them. But he was also quick to temper and seemed ill-suited for court life. In truth, he was struggling greatly to adjust to the frivolity of politics. But in the presence of his husband, the King underwent a noticeable change. He listened to his advisers with patience, weighing his options before making any decisions. No longer would he shout out in anger or slam his fist. (And if he did, he would get a good tongue-lashing from his little husband!)

All in all, no matter what hearsay spread through the mountain… Consort Bilbo Baggins seemed a blessing from Eru Illúvatar himself for Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, and his kingdom of Erebor.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't guarantee the translations are 100% accurate, but...
> 
> Ghivashel – treasure of (all) treasure  
> Amrâlimê – love of mine  
> Kidhuzurâl – golden one  
> Mizimelûh – jewel of (all) jewels  
> Melekunûh – my hobbit
> 
> Check me out on tumblr under the same name, always looking to talk Bagginshield! :)


End file.
